


See You at Rock Bottom

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bottom Steve Rogers, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Hypnotism, M/M, Multi, Punishment, Sexual Politics, Slurs, Sub Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Natasha Romanov, Top Tony Stark, entitlement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29099703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: “You leave the house smelling like that,” Tony warns, crowding up against Steve’s body and grabbing him firmly by the throat for good measure, “and I amlegally allowedto do whatever the fuck I want to you. I don’t even need good attorneys for that shit. Anyone can get away with fucking a rock hard bottom,” Tony grins, his voice a sleazy drawl as he grinds lazily against Steve’s thigh. “You need a pack."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Everyone, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 118
Collections: STB Bingo: Round One





	See You at Rock Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. This takes place in a world where consent norms are very different to ours. Steve’s enthusiastically verbally consenting, but he’s also a prisoner to his body chemistry. Extremely handwavey sexual biology. Lots of humiliation, objectification, group sex, and slurs. Also I wouldn’t consider Steve a reliable narrator. In other words, this story is from his POV, and his POV is pretty fucking compromised. But it’s more-or-less a PWP with worldbuilding, so… shrug? Also, it's Steve/everyone, but Steve/Tony and Steve/Bucky are the most central pairings (along with Steve/Natasha).
> 
> Written for my STB Bingo square, Sexual Slavery, adding another 4-of-5 row to my now hilariously full yet un-bingoed card 😀

They don’t call it sexual slavery anymore. Officially, that’s not what this is. It’s “restorative care,” issued by people of particular sexual dynamic types, people like the Avengers, to people of Steve’s type, usually at a ratio of at least 3:1. It might not look very egalitarian, but the thing is, if someone like Steve  _ doesn’t _ seek out a restorative care arrangement, he’ll get swarmed in the streets. The law allows it. His designation, officially a string of 7 numbers in bureaucratic mumbo-jumo, is commonly known as a “rock bottom.” Some jokingly refer to “rock  _ hard _ bottoms.” The point is, he’s exceptionally slutty and needy and he needs a  _ lot _ of physical contact and roughness and fluid exchange to stay healthy and balanced.

He didn’t  _ want _ to be in this restorative care arrangement, essentially owned by a team of superheroes, a team he might have  _ led _ once. 

You see, Steve Rogers was not always a rock bottom. 

He became accustomed to leading people, to being in charge, relied upon, as one of the kinky dominant subtypes. But then he went into the ice for seventy years, and when he was thawed out again, one of the only effects SHIELD found on his body from the hibernation was the quick death of particular proteins linked to dominance. In other words, the shock of the cold and the long-term flash freeze couldn’t be repaired by even serum-enhanced blood. They had leached all the dominance out of Steve’s body, and he was reclassified as a rock bottom.

Director Fury was obviously disappointed. In the first few days, there was still a kind of echo of dominance left in Steve’s bloodstream, so he didn’t recognize the change or feel the physical effects. Parts of his body still needed time to shift their functions. In that window, Fury briefed Steve on the Avengers Initiative, only to quickly learn that Captain America wasn’t going to be battle ready anytime this century. 

Steve in his lowest moments, confused but also desparate for release, begged both Fury and Coulson to fuck him. He could tell Fury almost wanted to tell Coulson to go ahead. Later he’d wonder if Phil had been tempted. But instead they isolated him, figured out what had happened, and then brought a couple of high-level agents with specific training in to do what needed to be done. Once Steve leveled out a bit, he begged instead for intelligence.

They kept him in a consulting strategist role for a few months, working with teams on comms from the helicarrier, but when New York happened, Steve saw it as a chance to prove himself in the field. He forced that toe-curling submission down a little deeper—somewhere he wouldn’t accidentally touch, maybe nestled in with Bucky’s memory—and strode out of his quarters to meet Tony Stark.

_ Those were some of the hardest moments of his life. Forcing himself not to kneel for Tony. Not to lick Tony’s fingertips and  _ **_beg_ ** _. _

But they didn’t need to keep him tucked away in private, just because he was a rock bottom. Steve could master his own submission and control himself. His scent did have a tinge to it after meeting Tony, a noticeable difference, but he had an enhanced sense of smell and the other Avengers didn’t. No one would know.

So technically, Captain America did fight in the Battle of New York. Valiantly, even. Until the point, of course, where he ended up on his knees in Tony’s penthouse, literally salivating for Loki’s cock even outside the influence of the wicked blue sceptre. Loki looked  _ thrilled  _ by this development and taunted him with humiliating words, promising to find another minion to tend to his submissive human  _ needs _ if Steve would join his side of the fight. 

And Steve would have cost them everything, he’s certain (and deeply ashamed) of it now, if Tony hadn’t zipped into the penthouse in his shiny red-and-gold suit and flown Steve clear of the Tower before launching back up to confront Loki. Tony is a real fucking hero. 

He doesn’t even say anything immediately after the battle about how Steve nearly turned traitor because he needed so badly to get fucked by a man with a big hard cock. He doesn’t make any cracks about how  _ he _ could’ve served that role just as well as Loki. He lets Steve dig his own grave, thinking about what might have happened had his rebelliousness and desire to be as free as he was as a dominant cost thousands of New Yorkers their lives.

After the battle, Steve realizes that Tony gave him a precious gift with that save, a few minutes tucked behind a bit of rubble to clear his head without being swayed by those his brain perceives as dominant. (Perceives, because neither Asgardians nor Frost Giants had sexual dynamic the way humans do.) He got to participate in the rest of the fight on the ground, to come across as a hero, even as his fate was already sealed.

After Thor and Loki leave the planet, after shawarma, Steve hopes to simply say goodbye to Tony and then get on his bike and get  _ out _ , onto the open road away from these influences where he can strategize his next move. But his optimism isn’t warranted, he learns when he reaches out to shake Tony’s hand and the billionaire leans in close to whisper in his ear. “I think you neglected to mention something, sweetheart.” Steve puffs his chest out, a little defensive, and prepares himself for another argument like those on the helicarrier. But Tony just grins at him, doesn’t let him pull any further away. “Your sweet ass is fair game.” Steve crumples instantly at the rough language, swelling with desire again, and Tony has to catch him by the arm before he goes all the way down to his knees in the middle of the street. He should be grateful that Tony lets him save face, but his head is swirling. 

“Get in the car.”

“My bike…”

“Happy will handle it, now get in the fucking  _ car _ , boy.” He’s obviously done giving Steve a pass, and his eyes flash with dark promise and the knowledge that this is a fight he is going to win.

Steve gets in. 

They barely fit, Bruce squished between them in Tony’s little convertible, and they drive to the Tower in tense silence. Bruce darts into one of the private garage elevators and jams the “door close” button before they can stop him, so it’s another tense thirty seconds of silence standing side by side, a few inches apart, waiting for the elevator car to arrive. 

And then Steve’s being aggressively slammed into its back wall. “Get me to a living floor that’s completely unoccupied,” Tony growls, and a smooth British voice affirms the order before the car starts moving. 

“You leave the house smelling like that,” Tony warns, crowding up against Steve’s body and grabbing him firmly by the throat for good measure, “and I am  _ legally allowed _ to do whatever the fuck I want to you. I don’t even need good attorneys for that shit. Anyone can get away with fucking a rock hard bottom,” Tony grins, his voice a sleazy drawl as he grinds lazily against Steve’s thigh. “You need a pack. A ‘ _ care arrangement _ ,’” he restates, disdain obvious in his tone. “Or you’ll get gang raped in the streets and every single one of them will get away with it. Or is that what you  _ want _ ,” Tony growls, “you little slut? Cause it  _ could _ be arranged. We could set you up at the bus stop.”

“No,” Steve gasps, shaking his head vigorously. He doesn’t want to be sold off or put on the street for continuous public use. If he’s gotta have a care arrangement, he’d rather it be with this burgeoning team of brothers-in-arms that he almost trusts. 

“Wasn’t it the same in your day? You know you can’t do that shit.”

Steve takes a deep breath, feeling defeated as well as desperately aroused. “I know, but I didn’t used to be… like this. And I just wanted… to help.” He frowns, and it must look pathetic, because Tony kisses him sweetly on the mouth, even though he’s unfathomably dirty and it can even be quantitatively measured by his blood markers.

Steve wonders if Loki will tell, when he gets to Asgard and the muzzle Thor had been using to block his brother’s magic and his chatty mouth is removed. He wonders if Odin, the ruler of nine realms, will find out what a slut he is. 

He jerks against Tony’s lithe form and feels his underwear getting damp. He didn’t think  _ that _ biological change had kicked in yet, but Tony unfastens the front of Steve’s khakis when the smell hits his nose, reaches inside, and lifts out Steve’s cock, indeed finding it soft but also shiny and wet. So his sexual fluids have already started mutating to penetrate his pores and seep out continuously, rather than in one gush from his cock. He’s half-hard, now, but when the transformation is complete his cock will no longer harden before he orgasms, though it will swell slightly. 

The biggest change is psychological. Steve  _ yearns _ for Tony’s cock. He feels like a practiced whore when Tony swipes his slick fingers across Steve’s cheek and then slaps it hard enough to sting, even though he’s only ever submitted to the two SHIELD agents (Avengers now) who’d been assigned to him. He never admitted to anyone that two weren’t  _ nearly _ enough, that the serum has somehow heightened this new submission so that he’s sure he’ll need at least  _ twice _ that, and daily, to really feel balanced. He felt such humiliating sentimentality after each session on the Helicarrier, tasting their sweat and other fluids on his body even after they’d leave him alone in his bunk. The Widow, especially, is of a dominant type that’s particularly compatible with his submission, her style cruel and demanding. But now he’s being dragged out of an elevator by the billionaire Tony Stark, into a fairly generic but luxuriously appointed suite.

“Sorry it’s not the penthouse, babe. But I don’t think you care, do you?” he asks rhetorically, advancing and slapping Steve several times across the face, this time incorporating a backhand. The way he says it makes Steve sound like the trashiest of trash. Steve whimpers, not having expected to get off on this upstairs-downstairs thing, rough trade to a Manhattan swell. But for some reason it does turn him on, being dragged around like Tony’s personal whore. “Bitch like you never cares about the décor. You wanted to  _ help _ ,” Tony mocks. “Fighting’s not your job, slut. Here’s what your job is now.” He holds Steve hard by the jaw and Steve’s cock twitches, his legs falling open involuntarily when Tony guides him down to sit on the couch. 

“Little slut,” Tony purrs like he’s been proven right. He nestles a knee up against Steve’s cock and puts his weight there. “Your job is to take cock like a superhero,” he murmurs in Steve’s ear. “You’ve done enough fighting. Now you take dick like it’s your job, because it legally is.  _ Our _ sweet little slut. Finder’s keepers.” Steve gasps and grabs Tony’s waist, but he doesn’t grip too hard. “That’s it, baby,” Tony says under his breath as he leans forward, brushing their lips together and grinding his knee against Steve’s package. His flies are still open and he’s leaking copiously, all over Tony’s jeans. He wants to suck his own fluid out of the denim. Yeah, his reversion to an instinctual state has obviously progressed pretty far by now.

“Work yourself on that dick.  _ That’s _ how you take it,” Tony murmurs. “Team bitch knows what it’s doing.” Steve gasps and whines, his mouth brushing and bumping against Tony’s. It feels like his face is the wrong shape or size, as if somehow in using the pronoun “it” Tony has turned him into an object. The older man laughs, his eyes crinkling, beard brushing against Steve’s clean-shaven skin. “You had your chance to be in charge, cutie, now it’s your turn to get reamed. Relax. Take it like a slut. And say ‘thank you, Daddy.’”

Steve moans again and lets his head fall back, Tony’s knee rubbing him where his fly jabs into his balls. “Thaaank you, Daddy.” It hurts a lot, but it also makes him leak more, from his dick and his balls and his asshole. It basically flows out anywhere it can find a channel, as far as he can understand. Bruce would be able to explain the anatomy, probably. The point is, his pants and underwear are absolutely soaked. He’s  _ trash. _

“I can’t wait to see you get fucked by someone with powers,” Tony growls. Presumably he means Bruce or Thor, which, holy  _ fuck _ . But then again, Steve also has his suspicions about Natasha. He’s learned not to trust much other than his intuition this century, and he has a hunch.

He doesn’t say anything.

Tony doesn’t seem to notice, but he does have mercy and lets up on Steve’s balls, tugging the damp pants and underwear free, removing his shoes, and getting him free of the whole mess. And then Steve’s wiggling like a whore because the textured fabric of this sofa feels good against his ass, and he wonders if Tony will have to have it dry-cleaned. It feels like his whole lower half is glistening with fluid. He’s already starting to experience the little tremors that happen now when his body latches onto sex and guides him through a series of waves of continuous orgasm. He squirms and humps the air. He wants something in his ass so badly. 

“God-fucking-damn,” Tony mutters, giving him two fingers. He shoves Steve around, against one arm of the sofa, which is deep enough to let Tony kneel on the other side and hold one of Steve’s legs up on its back. And then he gives Steve his whole dick, all at once, which makes Steve jerk like he’s seizing, then scream and come so hard he thinks he might be dying. His free leg jerks out involuntarily and locks in place, his asshole spasming and clutching around Tony’s dick. He half expects to hear the Hulk roar in response. He wonders if the Hulk would really give Steve his cock, and whether he would survive it. Tony could engineer a way. 

Back in the present moment, though, Tony’s cock is plenty wide enough. It spears him open and he lights up like one of Tony’s holographic displays as what feel like brand-new nerves are activated all throughout his lower regions. Fingers of pleasure branch throughout his body, making him shake and cry and feel a sense of...  _ finally _ . It’s some primal instinct satisfied, even if he was technically genetically engineered to have this instinct by a very modern freeze-and-release program. Sex has  _ never _ felt like this, not even with Clint or one of Natasha’s wicked toys. They fulfilled his basic needs, but something about this is still different. Maybe it’s Steve’s own surrender.

~*~

So Steve Rogers is never a name on the Avengers permanent roster. He’s not involved in missions, and his restorative care arrangement is fancy legal language for being the team’s bitch. He grows used to it, even grows to like it. But still, not everyone is a fan of the restrictions on submissive behavior, as Sam Wilson reminds the group during a team dinner.

“Yeah, and private prisons  _ definitely _ weren’t established in this country to maintain a glorified version of slavery,” Sam mutters, rolling his eyes. “So what else is new?” They’ve been discussing recent changes to the Submission Laws, and it doesn’t take long for a discussion to turn into a bit of a debate. The newest member of the team (a mid-range type, but also a veteran) is surprisingly abolitionist given his military history, in terms of both prisons and low-level submissives’ rights. He’s passionate not only about the rights of unfairly incarcerated Black men, in other words, but also about helping people like Steve. People who get so horny they literally can’t function without their mouth on some dominant person’s dick or pussy. People who drool when offered one of their masters’ dicks under the dinner table. People who whimper for it.

“Shh, slut, we’re eating,” Tony murmurs as Natasha offers Sam a counter-argument. And then he generously chokes Steve with his dick so he can’t moan disobediently at the rough treatment while Tony lays out his argument for reform over abolition—a logical progression that’s technically defensible but also doesn’t do much to mask the feral, instinctual roots of his position on the topic. Steve doesn’t really grasp any of the details of the argument. The fact is, he loves being treated rough. It’s all he wants, these days. Tony uses Steve’s skull like a tight little fucksleeve, sliding his throat up and down on Tony’s cock. Steve’s eyes water and the world goes blurry. He understands now that he’s made for this.

See, certain things are undeniably true.

There’s a part of Steve that loves to fail. There’s a part of Steve that loves to be  _ witnessed _ in his failure. He doesn’t hate the idea that Odin might think he’s a slut, or Heimdall, the Asgardian gatekeeper Thor made sound like a legendary voyeur with the powers of a demigod. Or his team. He loves his team, and that includes the way they casually use him for their own pleasure and as a reward for a job well done. He’s not an Avenger, but he  _ does  _ have an important role. He understands that now. Even Sam can’t deny that Steve, with his biology adjusted the way it is, has certain needs. The dominant members of the team are only too happy to fill them.

They get into a routine, with the care arrangement, but that doesn’t mean they don’t spice things up from time to time. One afternoon, they bring in a hypnotist who works with people like Steve. The session is relaxing, and though Steve doesn’t really remember anything that happened in it afterwards, he sleeps well that evening. The next night, Natasha calls him to her rooms. 

“That’s my pretty little comebitch,” she teases in her usual husky tone when he has an orgasm while eating her out, shuddering and coming into his own hand to avoid messing her sheets. He doesn’t even have time to pull his hand away and lick up his seed, though, before she gets a wicked delight in her tone and gives him an order. “I want to see you do it again. Grab your dick,” she orders, and he’s powerless to disobey, clenching his still-twitching organ with his messy hand and jerking it slick with his own come. She doesn’t give him long before she’s telling him to come again. 

“ _ Now _ , comebitch,” Natasha directs, and he obeys, and then Natasha laughs and tugs at his hair, pressing his face against her pussy. “Awww.” Her eyes are full of lust and greed. “How does it feel to come from an order, slut?” Suddenly, without warning, Steve comes  _ again _ , and it hurts, his whole body convulsing and his dick seizing up with pain. He’s not sure  _ why _ it happens, but Natasha’s delighted. “Do you like to have an order, slut? Is this a helpful word order, slut?” She barely pauses between her questions, and each time Steve has a brief but distinct little wave of convulsions, radiating throughout his ass and his genitals. His dick is soft and spent, his hand dripping with come, but it doesn’t stop his body from reacting. Something is  _ definitely  _ not normal. He should probably be very suspicious of that hypnotist. Knowing Natasha, he also should probably be afraid she’s going to slap it. But right now, he’s too exhausted and overstimulated to care.

~*~

So half of SHIELD is HYDRA and it’s kind of a shit show, but Nat and Sam and Fury handle it, and they somehow get  _ Bucky _ back in the process. And then it turns out that Bucky is very pleased about Steve’s demise. His memories are quickly recovered, but there’s a veneer of kindness that stays permanently stripped back, Bucky’s rawest version exposed. Steve probably shouldn’t like it so much.

Everything that used to drive Bucky mad about how Steve would get in fights he couldn’t win and act like such an uncontrolled masochist... “well, now I can finally fucking punish you,” as Bucky puts it when they first reunite.

It’s immediately clear that Bucky’s different from how he was before HYDRA used him for seventy years. Fucking obvious, of course, but the differences are still eerie. He’s so much quieter, but also harder.  _ So _ much harder. Not just his demeanor, but also his body. The serum must have had a noticeable effect on him, too. From the moment they see each other again, face-to-face, Steve wants to lick every muscle and worship his physical form. This is entirely new.  _ God, you slut _ .  _ He’s your best  _ **_friend._ **

“Do it,” Steve offers anyway. 

“Yeah, I will,” Bucky agrees, sinking onto one of the common area sofas and stretching out his long legs. “But first, I’ll have a fucking beer. It’s been a long day of psych evals. Boy?” He’s brusque, old-fashioned. There’s entitlement in his storm-grey eyes, expectation. Sure, all the Avengers insult Steve, but the way Bucky acts like he’s the hired help is of an earlier era. He fetches the beer. Tony’s watching them directly with undisguised lust. Clint’s pretending not to pay attention, which he’s pretty terrible at sometimes for a spy.

Steve offers the bottle to Bucky on his knees, head down hands up. Bucky takes it and then grins down at Steve, shifting so his legs are spread wide. “You know, I’ve always wanted to whip your raw hole,” he confesses casually. Steve shudders, his eyes on Bucky’s boots. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the predatory look that Tony’s face shifts into. Steve can’t believe that  _ Bucky’s home _ , but he also hasn’t fully thought out the consequences of that fact until now. “And now I’d be entirely within my rights to do it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve agrees, hating himself a little. 

“Beg me for it later. Anyway, I was told you’ve finally learned what a slut’s job is.” He laughs and his gaze shifts to Tony, sitting caddy-corner from Bucky’s sofa in an armchair. “He never did use the sluts proper back in the day. Guess he had it coming. Well?” He leans forward, gets up in Steve’s face and forces his gaze up. “Do your  _ job _ , Stevie.” 

Steve gasps and suddenly he can’t control himself. He paws into Bucky’s flies like a desperate whore, eager to get his tongue on Bucky’s dick. The physiological response to Bucky is  _ wild _ , but he can’t really evaluate it, just choke himself eagerly as soon as he gets his best friend’s erection free. He knows Tony’s watching. He knows Clint’s watching. He doesn’t care.

But then Natasha enters the room, and Steve goes beet red, remembering an earlier order he’d disobeyed and the consequences she prescribed at the time. He reluctantly lets Bucky’s dick slip out of his mouth and crawls to the kitchen in front of everyone, fetching a little bowl from a low shelf and returning with the bowl balanced on his back. They’ve formed a little circle from two sofas and a couple of chairs, Clint plopping down next to Bucky and Bruce joining them on the opposite sofa. Natasha’s chosen the chair opposite Tony, and she’s watching his every move. He kneels in the center of their group and blushes deeply, holding up his bowl. 

“Please, would you each come in my bowl?”

“Tell me why,” Bucky asks first, voice raspy, fisting his own abandoned dick and letting it jut lewdly at Steve. Steve bites his lip hard.

“Because I want to be good, and I was naughty before. My instructions are to let you each come in my bowl and then eat it.” 

“Oh, I see.” Bucky’s grin curls wicked, not like anything familiar to Steve from previous experience. “Yeah, that’s hot,” he grunts, and then just goes back to jerking himself off with his eyes closed. Steve’s about to turn away and offer his bowl to someone else when the first splash of Bucky’s come hits his cheek. “Yeah,” Bucky gasps, spilling the rest of his jizz over his hand and onto the hardwood floor, “I get  _ off _ , bitch,“ he spits, “on making you fail.” Steve moans and laps at Bucky’s hand when he offers it, licking his fingers clean. He tastes warm and salty and dominant. 

Steve yelps when someone else pulls him away, forcing him to pivot to his right. He finds himself face-to-dick with Clint and holds up his bowl helpfully. Clint shoots his load right into it, looking a little intimidated by Natasha. Bruce mostly makes the bowl, and Tony gets a little inside, but most of it on Steve’s face, laughing the whole time. Tony loves seeing Steve marked up with semen, preferably more than one load’s worth. Steve’s honestly not surprised that he looks happier that way. Sometimes they make him take artistically-composed selfies.

When they’re all done, Steve slurps up the bowl of lukewarm come, licking noisily for Natasha’s amusement. When he’s done, he glances up, hoping for praise, but he forgot his earlier mistake. Of course his failure to catch Bucky’s ejaculate in the bowl will be judged as his own fault by Natasha’s strict calculations.

“You rude little  _ whore _ ,” Natsha scoffs. “You don’t get to eat me out  _ and _ you have to lick that cold, disgusting come up off Tony’s floor.” Steve whimpers but pushes his face to the wood obediently, wetting his tongue. It’s not exactly sexy to lick up Bucky’s cooled spend, as well as a bit of Bruce’s. But that’s what Steve gets off on. It’s the real degradation, the feeling of being forced to do something actually unpleasant because he’s such a slut, that really hits him where it hurts.

Steve’s starting to realize a few things about himself:

  1. He thinks he might qualify as an exhibitionist, even though they never actually ask him about _his_ kinks.
  2. He is probably never leaving the Tower again.
  3. He understands why they call it “restorative care” now.



**Author's Note:**

> Likely sequel coming involving Loki, and also Bucky’s punishment. Also, to explain what happened with Natasha and the hypnosis: several of the Avengers chose a command phrase to use as a post-hypnotic trigger that would make him come. The hypnotist planted the trigger and also commanded him to forget that the triggers exist. In this world, certain types are much more susceptible to hypnosis, and the serum heightens that.


End file.
